I was flying back to Atlanta from a trip to Texas and Arkansas. On the full flight from DFW to ATL, the other two people on the row on which I sat in the jet owned a horse farm just a stone’s throw from where I was raised. The couple told me all about their horses, the 57 acres on which they ran a ranch, and we chatted about their dog, and the husband bragged on his grandsons. It was one of those flights one longs for, where folks are friendly and one finds kinship in the simple things of life. I’m not much for putting on airs, so I tend to gravitate towards folks that keep it real, as the saying goes. There are more than enough facades in life; give me normal folks of the soil and tales of work and farm and grandchildren anyday.

As we descended into the GA skies and landed in Atlanta, we all shook hands and exchanged phone numbers and laughed at what a blessing it was to have sat next to one another and to discover how much we had in common.

When it was time to exit the aircraft, I grabbed my ruck and their bags from the overhead storage bins, and we shook hands again. I went to the pickup area and waited for my wife to arrive to pick me up in my car. When I was walking towards the pickup curb, a young man approached me with a worried look on his face.

“Sir,” he said. “I’ve been looking for a soldier. I have a knife in my bag and I’m about to fly out. I want to give it to you, as a soldier, since I forgot to take it out of my bags.”

“O brother,” I said. “I know exactly what you’re going through. I’ve given up so many knives at the airport. But are you sure?”

“Yes,” he said. “I’d like you to have it.”

“What’s your name?”

“Matthew,” he said.

“Give me your number, Matthew. I’ll call you. Text me your address. I’ll take your knife for you but I will mail it to you when I get home.”

“You’d do that?”

“Of course.”

“Thank you, sir. Thank you so much,” he said.

“I’ve been where you are. And I have plenty of knives. You should have your knife back by the end of next week,” I said.

He reached into his bag and handed me the knife and I put it in my ruck. We shook hands. And soon my wife appeared on the drive leading up to the pickup curb.

When I got home, I pulled out the knife and looked at it.

Fear not, Matthew, you will be reunited with your skinning blade and its sheath soon. I’ve met some good folks on today’s travels and meeting you was another in that line. Keep the faith. You’ll have your property again soon. And hey, thanks for trusting a soldier with it. Means a lot to me.